I opened your book to read,
Several years they had rusted,
Shelved– lost, sad, trusted,
Tonight, at the crest of solitude,
With my feeble breath, I dusted,
In tenderness and in quietude,
Uncovered , unveiled, flipped,
Inside, found flowers dried,
Now freckled, they winked ,
Your message conveyed,
That you had read,
Left but loved.
A tear drop,
Unshed, held back,
Still.
Save the murmur of the backwater,
Rhyming ripples in soft whisper,
A lagoon of feeling,
Deep in, hurting,
Counter flows of emotion,
Unkempt passion,
Unbridled,wild,
Yet restrained,
All I know is
I am lost,
In that droplet.
Letting Go (Photo credit: Liamfm .)
Cannot let you go ,
Fond memories, slow,
A spear in the heart ,
Plunge deep at depart,
Loss, stress, hurt, short breath,
Passion moves past earth,
You need to stay long,
Belong to my song,
Renunciation?
Repudiation?
Refute hope ? joy ? dream?
Sorrow heap in ream!
All I know for sure.-
Can’t let go: near, far.
Your praise …
Unexpected.
A violin note,
Pulling at depths of my soul,
Cloudburst of flowers, fragrance.
I am nowhere where you say I am,
yet i shall strive,
To meet your benchmark.
As I watch a busy world pass by,
Me, seated on a cold cement bench,
Waiting for a face that would try,
My intellect, so dry, to quench,
I register furtive passers-by stare,
Walk away, dis-missives of hurried steps,
Harried fear, gnawing nightmare,
Until your eyes,dawn on me: dewdrops.
Came knocking on my door,
Chill, lurking fear so near,
Huddled, wait to familiar hear,
Your footsteps eager too far.
You, me and the ancient house,
Walls where we inscribed sketches,
With soot of embers of hidden dreams,
Carbonated curls stuck on every rafter,
Fresh breath of youth on every tree leaf,
Rain drenched soil running away so shy,
Chased by mischievous waters in a gush,
Meandering in weaves of hopes,
Twirls on twirls of suppressed feel,
Now to stare and declare in silence,
None to disturb this quietude,
Except a tremble, now a tremor,
Then a certain stillness within ,
Just you, me and this farm house.
Not to feel is a loss.
Not to be felt for is a calamity.
As we sat dangling our tired feet,
The fish nibbling in ardour treat,
Ripples of, waves of, yester stories,
Restoring calm after tormentor theories,
Which we struggled to endure, absorb, lug,
All that mattered to me was that parting hug.
As I realize that my pride has slipped,
Down the ravines of vanity dropped,
I look around in helplessness-
At achievement carcasses!
Strewn around me in defiance,
Reminding me of chance and mischance,
Of death, I had dictated yester year
Now beckons me and I shrink in fear,
Hollow roars of my forgotten brags-
Echoes of avenged ghosts now in rags,
Stare at bottomless abyss of despair,
I can look back at a muddy arrogant pyre,
Storms – of shrieks, of stills, of pangs
The futility- of frills, of frivolous, of fangs.
